Unexpected Night I

I can only feel

And let go,

And not let go...

The texture 

And whispers

Of forbidden fruits,

Lingering feelings

Into the night

In my skin. 

The soul music,

The contours of her hips,

The soft whispers,

The lips gently moving,

Tracing softly

Her desires.

Reborn again,

Capturing every second

Of her silence,

And I can let go,

And cannot let go. 

Unexpected Night II

Unexpected moments

In simple spaces

Unexpected movements 

And simple smiles 

Unexpected silence 

And simple goodbyes:

Life passes 

With unexpected twists

And we escape

With unexpected intent

Possessed by fears

With unexpected demands

Consumed by time

With unexpected realities:

I held her in my lips 

With unexpected debauchery

And imagine her demands 

With unexpected action 

And I say goodbye 

With unexpected harmony: 

Unexpected Night III

Like a river

Unpredictable: 

Of infinite waters 

Accumulating, 

Overflowing moisture 

Palpitating, 

Undercurrents

Infinitely expanding,

In an idled universe.

In the edge 

Of its flow I see you, 

Mouthing desire 

Swimming confused 

Feeling it all 

Taking little. 

I now know

How to preserve,

Retain, transcend

To an inner space 

valuable, inmutable,

Purposeless,

Infinite. 

Between

Between her and I

In the shadows of being

With planets confusing 

The winged dreams;

Between reality and ideal

Into her hair shadows

With undefined tears

Rolling back internally;

Between unspoken fears

In the shadow of truth

With sweet chaos 

Percolating existence;

Between decisions and indecisions

Her curious eyes are missed

And I see her contours

In my mind's shadow;

Between life and being

She moves away 

And I reaffirm her

In my dreams and reality. 

Simple, yet complicated

Simple, yet complicated:

Ideas, coffee,
talks of poetry
hair, eyes, lips,
and stories
not yet certain.

Refusing to be defined,
accepting, rejecting,
yet delighting
possibilities,
glances, ideas
and sensual chats.

Today I saw her,
glimmering,
her red lips
voluptuously desiring,
yet the mind
rejecting,
fighting.

Moral trepidations
between her
and her mind,
yet her skin
desiring,
her womb
swelling,
her lips
watering.

Simple, yet complicated.

An Old Friend

I met an old friend 

From not too long ago:

Eclectic chats

Within unimaginable

shadows,

Of an artistic being

That I think I know;

Between shadows 

Of a nation,

In a leg that I 

cannot see. 

An undefined number

In her wrist,  

An inverted cross 

Crawling her forearm 

All of these and more, 

Between a green

And mustard 

Sweater,

There she was.

Her eyes piercing 

The light,

Her smile transcending

The atmosphere. 

Between this and that 

And a cat, 

And a walk

And more 

And nothing more. 

All suffices:

To imagine the shadow

In her back, 

That I cannot see;

The curtain,

The window,

The white alpaca 

Blanket,

Her skin,

And more 

And nothing more. 

A Raven Night

A Raven Night

What would they know?

My voice was shouting

Across the room an empty cross

To professed the crossing paths

That have awaken humanity:

The Love Song of T.S Eliot

Was drowned among the fools

That giggled and refused

To listen to its questions;

Whitman, at times, was thought

To be obscene among the puritans

And the half sleep that will wake

When sinful nouns forced their morals

And ethics to its crisis;

I sipped my wine and shouted louder

Verde que te quiero verde

While they continued numbly listening;

Then, La Casada Infiel and an intimate

Bullfight personal reflexion;

And I shouted louder and louder

Until I drowned all the noises,

The giggles, the ridiculousness;

The wine was blood

The flesh consumed

The cross erected

The fools gone.

What would they know!

I once had a dream...

I once had a dream...

             I once had oxygen,

             I had a Dancing Serpent

             I, we, rained with fire.

             I, we, extended our existence together.

             Dreaming and reality was the same,

             the sheets, the covers, the forces of nature,

             the magic sand, the beach--not yet forgotten--

             the warm of your womb, the wind blowing,

             the kiss under the waves;

             the canary dying for us at Leo,

             were our dreams and reality.

             The magical reality was us,

              the magical dream was we:

              “it was such a beautiful dream”,

               and I, we, did not protected it,

               “from any remnants” of a cruel reality.

               Are we safe to be real, or is it time

               to prolong and protect the dream,

               before it kills us completely ? That is,

               if it is not already dead!

                                               

               I live to dream and die,

               and if I have died my dream,

               then to live without dreaming

               is to already be dead alive.

.                                               ... and then we killed it… for another.